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Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. Biographical Notes
  3. Title Page
  4. INTRODUCTION
  5. MARGERY KEMPE
  6. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  7. Dedication
  8. Front
  9. PART ONE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. PART TWO
  27. 17
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. 21
  32. 22
  33. 23
  34. 24
  35. 25
  36. 26
  37. 27
  38. 28
  39. 29
  40. 30
  41. 31
  42. PART THREE
  43. 32
  44. 33
  45. 34
  46. 35
  47. 36
  48. 37
  49. 38
  50. 39
  51. 40
  52. 41
  53. 42
  54. 43
  55. 44
  56. 45
  57. 46
  58. PART FOUR
  59. 47
  60. 48
  61. 49
  62. 50
  63. 51
  64. 52
  65. 53
  66. 54
  67. 55
  68. 56
  69. MY MARGERY, MARGERY’S BOB

Thanks to Mirage Period(ical) and Five Fingers Review for publishing excerpts from this work.

Finally, my thanks to the Djerassi Foundation and to the MacDowell Colony for their support.

Dedication

for Camille Roy, Angela Romagnoli, and Reese Romagnoli

Front

And then too you must shape in your mind some people, people well-known to you, to represent for you the people in the Passion. . . . When you have done this, putting all your imagination into it, then go into your chamber. Alone and solitary, excluding every external thought from your mind . . . moving slowly from episode to episode, meditate on each one, dwelling on each single stage and step of the story.

—The Garden of Prayer

written for young girls in 1454

PART ONE

The Rule of L.

I am thy loue & shal be thy loue wyth-owtyn ende.

1

Can I interpret Love’s canceled flights with only the language of canceled flights, his delayed arrivals with the language of delay?

•

In the 1430s, Margery Kempe wrote the first autobiography in English. She replaced existence with the desire to exist. A man drew water from a well while a child played around its edge. Beyond the city walls lay square orchards, wattled enclosures, and sheep folds. Clear blue sky, whitish at the horizon.

•

The moment Margery felt a separate consciousness inside her body was overwhelmingly bizarre. The certainty of her own death swam through her. After the child was born, devils pawed at Margery and tossed her around. Devils opened their mouths—an exasperating nudity appeared. One demon knelt like a suitor; it caught her ankle and tears spurted from its round blue eyes. In the wheedling voice of burlesque piety it implored Margery to deny God and the saints, her mother and father, and her own self. Margery tore the skin on her breast. She lost faith in the world and shrieked a tilted laugh. What sane person could afford such laughter? She roared at her husband John and her neighbors. Her periods stopped; her saliva tasted bitter. She wanted to kill herself and be reconceived in hell and as proof she bit so deep into her palms that crescents remained there for the rest of her life. Finally John tied her up.

•

Half yer viii wekys & odde days later, as Margery wrote, she lay so wide awake in the early dawn that the outside was pushed into sleep. She couldn’t move; she was united with the weak light that passed through her shutters and glinted on coins, gleamed on a latch. She heard rustling from above, the bare feet of servants, and a magpie’s rasping chatter.